


If the Fates Allow

by SkylandMountain1013



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylandMountain1013/pseuds/SkylandMountain1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A first Christmas in the Unremarkable House</p>
            </blockquote>





	If the Fates Allow

**December 4th**

It takes him two weeks to convince her to get a tree.

She has a litany of reasons why it wouldn’t make sense. She’ll most likely be working on Christmas, they’ve never had a tree before, the smell of pine makes her eyes water.

He’s persistent though, and finally on a Thursday morning he understands. 

“I don’t know, Mulder. It just seems like tempting fate.” 

He sits down next to her on the sofa and places her cup of coffee on the table in front of them. “Six months without even the hint of a threat, Scully. You have a job. We have a house. We’re done running.” He kneads the palms of her hands with his thumbs. “You deserve Christmas.”

Scully meets his gaze and hesitantly acquiesces. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing crazy.”

He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and then stands up to finish drying the dishes. She hears him hum the first few bars of  _O, Christmas Tree_  as he wanders into the kitchen. 

**December 12th**

The living room is an explosion of holiday cheer– boxes of ornaments, strands of garland, and more pine needles than Scully cares to think about.   

Seven feet of artificial Douglas Fir stand in the corner of the room, nestled between the fireplace and the large bay window. 

“Tree assembled, lights hung– toss me that box of ornaments. We’ll have this done in no time.” 

She slides by him and grabs two snakes of garland, examining them both. “Garland first, Mulder. Then ornaments.”

“Garland?,” he scoffs, catching the end of one of the pieces as it flutters behind her, “That’s the last thing that goes on. It’s the bow on the present, the cherry on the sundae, the bu-”

“Yes. I’m seeing your point. I’m also saying you’re wrong.” 

“You’ve been saying I’m wrong for how many years now?”

She ignores his jab and continues on, draping the first silver strand over the lowest branches. “Garland goes on first. It serves as an outline of where to place the ornaments. Otherwise you end up with improper spacing.”

“Improper spacing? This is a  _tree_ , Scully. Not blueprints for a house.” He starts twisting the ends of the remaining pieces together, working until all the strands are connected in one shimmering tail. 

She is teetering on the edge of bemused and annoyed. “You asked for my help. I would have been just as happy not..” She trails off as she feels the scratch of mylar against her neck. 

Mulder is methodically wrapping the garland around her body, guiding it around her curves. “You’re right. This does help balance things out.”

She huffs and he drops kisses on her neck in response. 

“I want you to relax.” He starts alternating his lips with his teeth. When she turns around, her eyes have gone dark. She grabs a fistful of his shirt with one hand, as the other reaches to unbutton his jeans. 

The garland shimmies to the ground as he lays her beneath the twinkling lights of the tree. 

 

**December 24th**

She considers it her own Christmas miracle that she’s out of work by 8. The skies are gray but the roads are empty, and by the time she makes it back to the house snow has started to dust her windshield. 

She unlocks the front door and is greeted only by the glow of the tree in the corner of the room. 

“Mulder?" 

He bellows from the office and when she follows his voice, she finds him hunched over the computer, furiously scratching information onto a pad of paper. 

“Ain Salah, Algeria, 6:09. Reykjavik, 7:14. Asuncion, Paraguay, 8:20. There’s definitely a pattern here, Scully.”

She can feel the adrenaline start pumping through her body. This is too early. She reflexively reaches for her hip to unholster a gun that’s been missing for years. 

The question she doesn’t want to know the answer to is on her lips when he turns around to face her. She doesn’t expect him to be smiling. 

“Santa!” 

She lets herself exhale. “Jesus, Mulder. You can’t do that.”

He motions for her to join him at the desk. “NORAD has set up a Santa tracker online. Real time location, projected paths- It’s pretty great technology, really. Can you imagine if the government cared this much about tracking things that actually matter?”

“You do know that Santa doesn’t actually exist, correct? This is most likely an intern at a computer, with a basic knowledge of longitude and latitude. He probably has a spreadsheet of countries and cities that celebrate.” 

“Be careful what you say, Scully. You don’t want to end up on the naughty list.” 

His demenor turns from playful to wistful, and starts chewing on his lower lip before speaking again. “A fugitive and his partner turned unwilling accomplice. A path of destruction wherever I go. Even if there was a nice list, I don’t think I’d deserve to be on it.”

She straddles the armrests of the chair carefully so that she can frame herself around his shoulders. He heaves out a sigh as she starts running her fingers through his hair. 

“I’ve always believed,” she starts, choosing her words carefully, “that Christmas was about choosing joy. There is horror in the world, but for one season, people go out of their way- maybe just a bit- to make things better. Even for just a moment. And I think we’re finally on the path to choosing joy.”

He takes a moment to ponder and nods every so slightly. 

Her hands reach out towards him as she backs away from the desk. “C’mon. We might have some stale Oreos in the pantry that we can leave out overnight.” She winks. “Just in case.”

 

**December 25th**

They sleep in, limbs intertwining to conserve heat as the frigid air of the morning envelops the house. 

When they finally pad out of the bedroom, Scully turns the radio to the station that’s been playing nothing but Christmas music for the last month. They sway in front of the fridge as Mulder croons Bing Crosby off key. 

She calls her mother, who insists that they join her next year for Christmas dinner. 

They forgo the comfort of the couch to open gifts next to the tree. Every year they agree not to buy each other anything, and every year they ignore their self imposed rule. Eventually they’ll agree it’s a dumb idea anyways. 

Later, when their backs start screaming in protest, they move to the couch. Mulder insists on putting on the Knicks game (Christmas tradition, he says), and Scully sinks into the warmth of his side. 

At halftime, she gathers two glasses of wine from the kitchen. And they toast. 

To happiness and peace. To remembrance of those no longer with them. 

Silently, to a little boy in Wyoming, who is hopefully having the Christmas of his dreams. 

The snow falls outside as the tree glows inside. 

Today, they choose joy. 


End file.
